Fic: Management Myths Part 4
Part 4
Wilson sat on the couch trying to let the TV numb his mind while he waited for the pizza. He set down the coffee and opted for a beer to help keep his mind from going into overdrive. He wanted desperately to push aside all things unpleasant for a time, to just relax, but he couldn’t. He was good at accepting what was and even finding the positive in most situations, but only after completely overanalyzing every aspect involved.
The fact was that just because House had been wrong didn’t mean Wilson was right. In fact, when such a colossal mess as the one they were in was borne, there was usually very little righteousness to go around. He began to doubt his actions toward and his perceptions of his friend. He wondered when exactly he started to believe so strongly that he knew what was best for House. Maybe it was when House stopped caring so much about himself; maybe a part of Wilson thought he could care enough about House and his life for the both of them.
He was starting to see his actions through a different lens. He genuinely wanted what was best for House, but wanting what was best and knowing what was best were not the same thing. And knowing what was best and knowing how to help, were also not the same thing. It was all becoming so much clearer now. He even began to doubt his motives. He had thought they were purely to help House, but now he wondered if a part of why he wanted to help House was for himself, to help bring his friend back. The friend he remembered from years before. House had changed, but then so had he.
He was pushing House the same way his parents had pushed his brother. He did not want to lose House in the same way. Pushing him away was the last thing he wanted to do. But he couldn’t just sit by and do nothing watching House spiral downward over the years. He was going to have to restrain himself and keep an open mind till his part in this was sorted out in his head. For now, he needed a break. Going in circles, jumping from these thoughts to thoughts of how sad and lonely his life really wasn’t accomplishing anything but bringing him down. He needed to put these thoughts down until his head was clear. He was content to focus on the screen for now.
He was halfway through an episode of Black Adder when he heard a knock on the door. He had already opened the door and was reaching for his wallet when he realized he didn’t have any money. He told the delivery man he’d be right back and went to fish out House’s wallet.
He could hear House snoring lightly and tried to be stealthy as he pulled out a twenty. House was on high alert for Stacy’s arrival and his eyes shot open when he heard Wilson enter. Wilson was unaware of this, and left to get the pizza. Hunger pangs made themselves known and he began to salivate as soon as he smelled it at the door. Wilsons were not meant to live on peanut butter and jelly alone.
House shifted slightly, testing out the extent of his injuries from the fall. With a sigh he turned the alarm off and got up. He groaned inwardly as the bruises and soreness that were taking up residence announced their presence. He eased up, grabbed the ankle support he sometimes wore and a good pair of sneakers from the closet. He slowly made his way to the brown trashcan and pulled out its lone content, a pristine white binder that was among the things discarded when the Ketamine treatment failed. He then pulled a file folder out of his bedside table. He stared at the items in his hand for a good while, a myriad of emotions passing through him as he tried to accept what he had to do, what he had tried to avoid doing for so long. He hobbled to the living room his gait worse than usual after the fall. He said nothing to Wilson who was devouring the pizza. He pulled some papers out of his backpack and added them to the binder before plunking it down on the table and all but collapsing on the couch.
Wilson observed his friend quietly. Exhaustion wore heavily on House as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, and his gait was devoid of its usual (or rather unusual) grace. The papers and binder before him interested Wilson most though. He stared at the binder wondering what it housed.
House kept his head back but opened his eyes, “You staying?” he asked.
“Reason I shouldn’t?” Wilson responded, not sure if he should offer House privacy for the meeting with Stacy or indulge his curiosity and his desire to make sure the two didn’t fall back into bed together.
House gave a small shrug and winced slightly at the shoulder movement. Sighing loudly, he was getting sick of having to restrict his movements even more than usual.
“You know some doctors recommend chewing before swallowing. You’d think you never saw food before.” He could have mentioned that Wilson had a drop of orange-tinged pizza oil on his chin, but decided against it. Let the man be embarrassed when Stacy saw it if he insisted on staying.
“Well, it is rare that I get to have food without you plotting to steal it out from under me.” Wilson quipped.
“Oh, I think it’s fair to say you’re the expert when it comes to plotting.” House drew out the last word. He didn’t really want to fight with Wilson. He was going through much of this so they could just get back to their version of normal, but it gave him something to focus on besides the pain, the legal battle or Stacy.
Wilson nudged the pizza box toward House knowing that the other man would get that he not only meant “Do you want some pizza?” but also, “Yeah, so we both play a part in why this friendship is so screwed up. Can we agree to put that away for now?” The pair was well-practiced at conveying a lot without saying anything. There was a comfort and beauty in the way they communicated. In many ways, it was a secret language shared just between the two of them.
House lifted his head off the couch to turn and really look at Wilson. For a moment, House let emotions of hurt, pain, remorse and anxiety flash through before turning back to neutral. “That offer for coffee still good?” Wilson took it as the rejection of pizza and acceptance to put the argument away for the time being that it was and let some warmth enter into his own gaze.
“Yeah, I need another beer anyway,” falling right back into the dance of doing things for House without making it obvious that that’s what was happening. It was their way. They both knew what was really going on, but the pretense was as much a part of their dynamic as anything else. They both needed a respite from fighting with each other because when you fight with your best friend, you have no one to turn to or confide in about it. Or in House’s case, no one to bitch to or throw stuff off the roof with.
Wilson returned with the coffee to find House nodding off. He touched the mug to House’s hand letting the warmth connect them for a moment. Just as they had conversation without words they felt without touching flesh to flesh, allowing clothing and coffee mugs to be vessels of contact. House blinked rapidly and forcefully a few times before taking the mug in his left hand.
“What’s in the binder?” Wilson finally asked after he finished eating.
“I don’t want to have to repeat myself. We’ll go through it when Stacy gets here.” Wilson knew this was not a point to argue. House looked again at the binder that contained hours of diligent research and writing, and the file, his file, knowing that once he showed them to Wilson things were bound to change, he just wasn’t sure how.
“You’re seriously not eating?” Wilson marveled as he gathered the pizza and things off the table.
“Do you see Hungry pinned to my shirt?”
“Uh, no, but I don’t see Grumpy there either and we both know that’s an oversight. I just can’t believe you didn’t try to steal anything off my plate.”
“Stealing loses its thrill when I’m the one paying for the food.” Wilson smirked slightly in response before clearing everything away. Pain, pills, and anxiety had stolen away any appetite House might have had. He raised the volume on the TV and they didn’t speak again, it wasn’t their usual amiable silence, but each admitted to himself that it was far better than the silence of ignoring or being without one another.
They were midway through a second episode of Black Adder when Stacy knocked on the door. House turned off the TV and Wilson went to answer the door. House tried to get every guard up he had while he overheard them exchanging pleasantries, smirking to himself when Stacy commented on the pizza smudge.
“Greg,” she said in a tone ripe with varying emotions, as if she were unsure which one to settle upon.
“Stacy,” he countered coolly not meeting her eyes. Wilson just looked between them witnessing them turn the exchange of names into a conversation complete with body language footnotes. They had always played mind games, but then that was part of all of House’s relationships.
“I’m here.”
“Ah, so you decided not to send a hologram, excellent. You want some coffee or something?” He was stalling.
“I’m fine,” Stacy’s curiosity was fully piqued. Something big was afoot. “How are you?” she asked caringly. Greg would always be an important part of her life, of her.
“I’ve got a Neanderthal cop dedicating himself to making my life hell, but other than that I’m just great.” House would have none of that caring if he could avoid it. It would be bad enough after she read through his notes and all the pain management articles. Understanding spread across Stacy’s face. House was getting right to business.
“I’m sure you didn’t do anything to provoke him. That would be so unlike you.”
“Yes, well, I’ve always had respect for order and authority, especially, men in uniform; what with them being my father’s brethren.” he said with a smirk and then turned serious. “This guy trumped up drug charges from the Vicodin.” He opened the binder and handed over a stapled document. “Here. My copies of all the reports and things.” He took in the sight of her as she read them over noting the absent wedding ring when she sat on the far end of the couch and then focused intently on the binder that still lay in front of him. Wilson found himself staring dumbly at the empty television screen as he stood not wanting to leave, but having nothing to do there.
“Greg, you need a criminal lawyer.” Stacy said after a few minutes sounding peeved.
“Already have one. I thought a different angle might be in order. I’ve seen how you work. You don’t take up a case; you take down your opponent. Plus, the defense I was thinking of could benefit from a Constitutional lawyer.”
“Okay,” she said clearly waiting for more.
“Here,” he said handing over the binder and file. “Read through these. You’ll see what I was thinking.” He wanted to have to talk about this as little as possible.
Stacy looked at him questioningly and audibly released a breath as she took it. “I think I’ll take that cup of coffee now.”
Wilson stared at House with a flash of anger, exasperation and hurt, but mostly, House thought he just looked like a lost wounded puppy. He was sure Wilson thought he came across angrier and tougher than he really did. He lowered his head. He knew Wilson wanted in on the file and binder. “You might as well look the stuff over too. Stacy’s bound to have questions. The more of them you answer, the less I have to.”
“Greg, what is all this?” Stacy was genuinely curious. There was a fair amount of material to read through and she didn’t know what to make of it. Greg was always so cryptic when it came to himself. House waited as long as he could without pissing her off before answering. He still remembered where her buttons were and for a change, he was trying to avoid them.
“The file is a medical file on myself I started shortly after the infarction. It’s sparse mostly med. dosages, pain ratings, alternatives attempted, etcetera. The binder is research for an article I worked on over the summer. It won’t be published, but after the draft and notes for it you’ll find most of the articles from its bibliography.” His voice was clipped, curt and professional.
Wilson returned coffee in hand. “You mind grabbing my ip-od while you’re up?” He handed Stacy her coffee and grabbed the device from the back pack and handed it to House pretending he did it because he was up and not because House had fallen on his ass earlier. He then took a seat on the table midway between them making sure he could keep an eye on both of them.
“Stacy’ll fill you in on what that stuff is. You’ll fill her in on whatever you can fill her in on. Q and A after you’ve at least skimmed through all of it because I’m not doling out answers that are already in there.” With that House popped in his ear buds to try to lose himself in music and ignore the fact that the two of them were about to be privy to things he had tried so hard to keep hidden away.